LEGENDS 


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LEGENDS  OF 
SAN  FRANCISCO 


OTHER  BOOKS  BY  THE  SAME  AUTHOR: 


LEGENDS  OF  SOUTHERN  CALIFORNIA. 
ORIENTAL  RAMBLES. 
RAINBOW  STORIES. 
THE  WIZZYWAB. 


LEGENDS 

OF 

SAN  FRANCISCO 


By 

GEORGE  W.  CALDWELL,  M.  D. 


Published  by 

PHILLIPS  &  VAN  ORDEN  CO. 
SAN  FRANCISCO,  CAL. 


o 


;  0 
'I  -1 

jx. 


COPYRIGHTED  1919 

By 
GEORGE  W.  CALDWELL.  M.  D. 


DEDICATION. 

My  San  Francisco   on  her  seven  hills  is  smiling, 

Beside  an  opalescent  sunset  sea; 
There  is  a  magic  in  her  bracing  air  beguiling, 

Yet  filling  all  with  tireless  energy. 
The  tingling  tang  of  open  sea  the  breeze  is  giving; 

The  fog  rolls  in  and  dm>es  heat  languors  out, 
And  thrills  her  loyal  subjects  with  the  joy  of  living, 

And  puts  the  love  of  idleness  to  rout. 

When  in  the  valleys,  fervent  summer  heat  oppresses, 

And  gives  no*  respite  night  or  day, 
There  is  a  City  that  the  cooling  fog  caresses, 

Upon  the  breezy  San  Francisco  Bay. 
When  winter  rains  and  sun  have  wrought  in  fragrant 
flowers 

A    multicolored   carpet   on    the    land, 
A   charm  is  in  her  circling  hills  and  redwood  bowers 

That  only  those  who  see  can  understand. 


She  has  a  mystic  charm  in  all  the  changing  seasons — 

A    lure   that  brings  the  stranger  to   her  door, 
And  in  these  pages  I  will  give  the  Indian's  reasons 

For  charms  and  lures,  never  told  before. 
The  legends  of  the  hills,  the  fog,  the  gulls,  the  waters 

Idealize  the  beautiful  and  true; 
Allova    me,    therefore,    California's    Native    Daughters, 

To  dedicate  this  book   of  verse  to  you. 


CONTENTS. 

The  Maid  of  Tamalpais 15 

The  Twin  Guardians  of  the  Golden  Gate.  .  .41 

The  Sea  Gulls 61 

The  Islands  of  the  Bay 73 

The   Lake  of   Merita 83 


THE    MAID    OF    TAMALPAIS. 


THE    MAID    OF    TAMALPAIS. 

>TVHIS  she  told  me  in  the  firelight 

•*•     As  I  sat  beside  her  campfire, 
In  a  grove  of  giant  redwoods, 
On  the  slope  of  Tamalpais. 

Old  she  was,  and  bent  and  wrinkled, 
Lone  survivor  of  the  Tamals, 
Ancient  tribe  of  Indian  people, 
Who  have  left  their  name  and  legend 
On  the  mountain  they  held  sacred. 
On  the  ground  she  sat  and  brooded, 
With  a  blanket  wrapped  around  her— 
Sat  and  gazed  into  the  campfire. 
On  her  bronze  and  furrowed  features, 
On  her  hair  of  snowy  whiteness, 
Played  the  shadows  and  the  firelight. 
Long  she  gazed  into  the  embers, 
And  I  feared  I  had  offended 

[15] 


16  Legends  of  San  Francisco 


In  the  question  I  had  asked  her. 
Then  she  spoke  in  measured  accents, 
Slowly,  with  a  mournful  cadence, 
And  long  intervals  of  silence. 

"You  have  asked  me  why  my  people 
Will  not  climb  Mount  Tamalpais — 
Why  we  hold  the  mountain  sacred. 
I  am  old,  and  when  the  Raven 
Calls  my  spirit  to  the  Father, 
None  will  know  the  ancient  story, 
Sacred  legend  of  the  Tamals. 
Therefore,  I  will  tell  the  story, 
I  will  tell  and  you  shall  write  it, 
Else  it  will  be  lost  forever; 
I  will  tell  it  that  the  paleface 
May  respect  our  sacred  mountain." 

"In  the  morning  of  creation 
All  the  world  was  covered  over 
With  the  flood  of  troubled  waters. 
Only  Beaver  and  the  Turtle 
Swam  about  upon  the  surface. 
Beaver  said,  Tm  very  weary.' 
Turtle  said,  'Dive  to  the  bottom.' 


The  Maid  of  Tamalpais  17 


Beaver  dove  and  brought  up  gravel, 
Laid  it  on  the  back  of  Turtle; 
Dove  again  and  brought  a  pebble, 
Then  another  and  another. 
Pebbles  grew  to  rocks  and  boulders, 
As  a  peak  above  the  waters — 
Thus  was  Mount  Diablo  fashioned. 

Beaver  sat  upon  the  mountain, 

Gazing  out  across  the  waters ; 

Saw  a  single  feather  floating ; 

Feather  grew  into  an  Eagle ; 

Eagle  flew  and  sat  by  Beaver. 

Long  they  talked  about  creation, 

Counseled,  planned,  and  reconsidered, 

Then  they  moulded  clay  with  tules ; 

Beaver  placed  his  hair  upon  it, 

Eagle  breathed  into  its  nostrils — 

Thus  Coyote  was  created. 

Coyote  barked  and  sat  beside  them. 

Many  creatures  were  created; 

Some  with  hair,  and  some  with  feathers; 

Some  with  scales,  or  shells,  or  bristles. 


18  Legends  of  San  Francisco 


Other  peaks  and  mountain  ridges 
Then  appeared  above  the  waters. 
Walls  of  hills  were  then  continued 
North  and  south,  to  hold  the  waters 
In  a  mammoth  lake,  that,  filling 
All  the  Sacramento  Valley, 
Found  its  outlet  to  the  ocean 
Through  the  Russian  River  Canyon. 
Round  the  lake  the  blazing  mountains 
Spouted  lava  and  hot  ashes  ; 
Casting  on  the  troubled  waters 
Lurid  gleams  and  purple  shadows. 

By  the  lake  Coyote  wandered— 

Sat  and  howled,  for  he  was  lonely, 

Lonely  for  a  Man  to  tame  him 

Into  Dog  as  a  companion. 

Then  Coyote  mixed  dry  tules 

With  wet  clay  and  made  a  figure. 

Sun  God  came  and  shone  upon  it; 

Spirit  came  and  blew  upon  it, 

And  a  Man  was  thus  created. 

Sun  God  made  the  Moon  to  guard  him, 

And  she  stood  before  his  tepee, 

Watching  while  the  Sun  was  sleeping; 


The  Maid  of  Tamalpais  19 


But  she  loved  the  Sun  and  followed 
Him  into  the  starry  heavens, 
Always  with  her  face  turned  to  him. 
Still  she  watched  the  lonely  tepee, 
And  her  heart  was  touched  with  pity 
For  the  lonely  man  within  it, 
So  she  made  a  lovely  woman, 
Gave  her  constancy,  and  sent  her 
On  a  moonbeam  to  his  tepee, 
As  his  helpmate  and  companion. 
Man  then  multiplied,  and  flourished, 
Building  villages  and  lording 
Over  all  the  other  creatures. 

On  the  sunny  eastern  margin 
Of  the  Bay  of  San. Francisco, 
Grew  the  village  of  the  Tamals ; 
Fisher  folk  they  were,  and  gentle, 
Seeking  not  for  wars  of  conquest  ; 
Fishing  in  the  purple  waters 
From  their  boats  of  bark  or  rawhide 
Wading  in  the  limpid  shallows 
Seeking  oysters,  clams  and  mussels. 
In  the  course  of  generations 
Piles  of  shells  of  many  banquets, 


20  Legends  of  San  Francisco 


With  the  ashes  of  their  campfires, 
Formed  a  mound  upon  the  bay  shore. 
Shell  Mound  Park,  the  people  call  it, 
And  they  gather  in  the  shadows 
Of  the  ancient  oaks  for  pleasure, 
Roasting  clams  as  in  the  old  days 
When  the  Tamals  lived  upon  it. 
Gone  are  now  the  limpid  shallows  ; 
Gone  the  oysters  and  the  mussels, 
And  no  more  are  grassy  meadows 
Dappled  with  the  spreading  oak  trees 
For  great  factories,  grim  and  sordid, 
Sprawl  in  squalid  blocks  around  it, 
And  the  smoke  of  forge  and  furnace 
Rise  from  stacks  into  the  heavens. 

Paleface  men  with  concave  glasses, 
Learned  in  lore  of  printed  pages, 
Dig  into  the  mounds  and  gather 
Spear  and  arrow  heads  and  axes, 
Broken  weapons  and  utensils 
Made  of  flint,  or  bone,  or  seashell. 


The  Maid  of  Tamalpais  21 


To  the  northward,  where  great  boulders 
Lie  in  tumbled  piles  and  masses, 
And  a  Thousand  Oaks  are  clustered, 
And  the  crags  upthrust  their  fingers 
Through  the  meadows  of  the  uplands, 
Was  another  Indian  village, 
Ancient  stronghold  of  the  Tamals. 

In  the  village  on  the  hillside 
Men  were  hunters,  brave  and  fearless, 
Skillful  with  the  bow  and  arrow, 
Artful  with  the  snare  and  deadfall ; 
Hunting  deer  and  elk  and  bison 
In  the  open  grassy  meadows, 
Tracking  wolf  and  mountain  lion 
To  their  lairs  among  the  redwoods ; 
Bearing  on  their  backs  the  trophies 
To  their  camp  when  night  was  falling. 

In  the  village  maids  and  matrons 
Dressed  the  furs  and  tanned  the  buckskin, 
Dried  the  venison,  and  traded 
With  the  Shell  Mound  folks  for  salmon, 
Mussels,  clams  and  abalones, 
Ornaments  of  bone  or  seashell, 


22  Legends  of  San  Francisco 


Weapons  chipped  from  flint  or  jasper. 
From  the  oaks  they  gathered  acorns, 
And  beneath  the  fragrant  bay  trees 
And  the  heavy  blooming  buckeyes, 
Ground  the  acorns  into  flour 
To  be  baked  upon  the  hot-stones. 

To  this  day  the  smoke  of  campfires 
May  be  traced  in  caves,  and  crannies 
Where  the  overhanging  cliffsides 
Gives  protection  from  the  rainstorms. 
If  you  search  among  the  thickets 
Of  the  low  widespreading  buckeyes 
You  will  find  their  ancient  mortars 
In  the  bedrock  still  remaining — 
Mortar  holes  ground  deep,  and  polished 
By  the  toil  of  many  women 
Pounding,  grinding  with  a  pestle 
Fashioned  from  a  stream-worn  boulder. 

Gone  are  all  those  ancient  people, 
Perished  now  for  many  ages. 
Many  oaks  have  grown  and  withered, 
Many  buckeyes  bloomed  and  faded, 
Many  tribes  have  fought  and  conquered, 


The  Maid  of  Tamalpais  23 


Lived  for  many  generations, 
Then  were  driven  out  by  others. 
Still  the  mortar  holes  will  linger 
As  our  monuments  forever." 

Fainter  grew  the  voice,  still  fainter, 

Sinking  almost  to  a  whisper, 

With  a  hesitating  quaver, 

As  the  picture  came  before  her 

Of  her  disappearing  people. 

Then  I  rose  and  piled  more  branches 

Of  the  redwood  on  the  campfire, 

And  the  flames  and  sparks  leaped  upward, 

Lighting  up  the  mournful  forest, 

Driving  back  the  eerie  shadows. 

Long  she  bowed  her  head  in  silence, 
Then  resumed  her  rythmic  speaking. 
In  the  village  lived  a  maiden, 
Fairest  of  all  comely  maidens 
Ever  born  among  the  Tamals ; 
Fair  of  face  and  pure  of  spirit, 
Kind  in  thought  and  quick  in  service 
To  the  young  and  old  and  helpless ; 
Ever  eager  for  her  duty, 
Ever  singing  at  her  labor. 


24  Legends  of  San  Francisco 


When  she  sat  beneath  the  buckeyes 
Grinding  acorns  in  the  mortar, 
Humming  birds  came  sipping  honey 
From  the  heavy  scented  blossoms ; 
Wild  birds  came  and  sang  their  sweetest 
Music  as  they  perched  above  her; 
And  the  Fairies  came  to  greet  her 
Dressed  as  Butterflies,  and  fluttered 
Round  her  head  and  whispered  secrets- 
Secrets  not  revealed  to  others. 

Little  wonder  that  the  Chieftain, 
Young  and  brave  and  wise  in  counsel, 
Loved  the  maid  and  wished  to  take  her 
As  his  wife  to  rule  his  people. 
But  she  answered  him  with  sadness, 
For  she  loved  the  youth,  'Beloved, 
This  is  not  the  time  for  lovers, 
But  for  warriors  to  make  ready, 
For  a  danger  comes  upon  us. 
God  has  sent  a  warning  message 
By  the  Fairies,  and  they  whispered 
To  me  as  I  ground  the  acorns 
In  the  mortar    'neath  the  buckeyes. 


The  Maid  of  Tamalpais  25 


Rally  all  your  braves  around  you, 
Sieze  your  strong  bows,  fill  your  quivers 
With  the  long  flint-pointed  arrows ; 
Guard  the  ridges  to  the  eastward 
Ere  the  foe  shall  fall  upon  us.' 

To  the  eastward  where  Diablo 
Rears  its  peak  above  the  fog  banks 
Drifting  landward  from  the  ocean, 
Lived  a  warlike  tribe  of  people. 
Fierce  they  were,  and  grim  and  cruel, 
Worshiping  the  Fire  Demon 
Who  is  crouching  in  the  mountain. 

* 

From  their  heights  they  saw  the  waters 
Of  the  Bay  of  San  Francisco 
Lying  crystal-clear  and  purple. 
Then  no  Sacramento  River 
Poured  its  flood  of  silt  into  it, 
For  a  range  of  hills  continued, 
All  unbroken,  from  Diablo 
To  the  distant  smoking  mountain 
Which  is  now  called  Saint  Helena. 


26  Legends  of  San  Francisco 


Long  they  watched  the  bay  and  marveled 

At  its  strange,  alluring  beauty ; 

Watched  it  in  its  changing  colors — 

In  the  gray  of  misty  mornings, 

In  the  blue  of  sunny  mid-day, 

In  the  glories  of  the  sunset, 

In  the  silver  flood  of  moonlight — 

It  enticed  and  seemed  to  beckon, 

Then,  as  ever,  to  the  strangers. 

Long  their  Wizards  danced,  and  rattled 

With  their  gourds,  to  rouse  the  Demon 

Of  the  Mountain  to  assist  them — 

Danced  until  they  fell  in  frenzy, 

Prophesying  wealth  of  plunder. 

Warriors  danced  and  chanted  war  songs, 

Stamped  and  shouted,  waved  their  war  clubs, 

With  the  war  paint  on  their  bodies, 

Black  and  yellow  and  vermillion. 

Hideous  and  terrifying 

Were  they  when  they  took  the  warpath. 


The  Maid  of  Tamalpais  27 


Oh,  the  terror  of  their  coming ! 
Oh,  the  horror  of  the  battle 
On  the  meadows  of  the  uplands! 
Forward,  by  the  strength  of  numbers, 
Pressed  the  Devils  of  Diablo ; 
Slowly  backward  fell  the  Tamals 
To  the  Stronghold  of  the  Boulders. 
When  the  darkness  of  the  midnight 
Fell  as  a  protecting  blanket, 
Silently  my  tribe  retreated, 
Ere  the  ring  should  be  completed 
By  the  merciless  invaders. 
All  the  Tamals  started  northward — 
Men  and  women,  little  children — 
Through  the  open,  grassy  meadows, 
Through  the  forest  to  the  ridges 
Circling  round  the  Bay  below  them. 
At  the  dawning  of  the  morning 
They  were  resting  on  a  hilltop. 
To  the  west  the  Bay  was  sleeping 
Underneath  its  misty  blanket ; 
To  the  east  a  lake  was  gleaming 
In  the  rosy  light  of  sunrise. 


28  Legends  of  San  Francisco 


While  they  rested  on  the  mountain, 
Weary,  footsore,  and  disheartened, 
Came  pursuing  scouts  to  spy  them. 
Fierce  and  bloody  was  the  combat, 
All  the  rocks  were  stained  with  crimson. 
Then  the  scouts,  or  those  still  living, 
Fled  to  tell  their  wicked  Chieftain 
Where  to  find  the  fleeing  Tamals. 

Loud  the  wail  of  lamentation 

When  the  Tamals  saw  their  warriors 

Who  had  fallen  in  the  combat 

Lying  lifeless  on  the  mountain. 

Louder  still,  the  cry  of  anguish 

When  they  found  their  Maid  of  Mercy 

Helpless  now,  and  sorely  wounded. 

No  more  would  her  strong  young  shoulders 

Bear  the  wounded  braves  to  safety, 

Nor  would  she  withdraw  the  arrows, 

Bind  the  wounds  nor  stanch  the  bleeding. 

On  the  shoulder  of  the  Chieftain 
She  was  carried,  for  no  other 
Had  such  strength  and  gentle  manner. 
On  his  shoulder  thus  he  bore  her, 


The  Maid  of  Tamalpais  29 


Fleeing  northward  on  the  ridges, 
Bore  her  gladly,  for  he  loved  her. 
All  the  women  were  exhausted, 
All  the  children,  tired  and  weeping; 
Half  the  warriors,  dead  or  wounded — 
Slow  and  painful  was  the  progress. 

On  they  fled,  but  often  turning, 
Looking  backward  o'er  their  shoulders, 
Fearful  lest  the  foe  o'ertake  them 
Ere  they  reached  a  place  of  safety. 

Came  a  deadly  fear  upon  them ! 

'We  are  lost,'  they  cried  in  terror, 

For  a  league  behind  them,  followed 

Such  a  host  of  men  or  devils 

That  they  could  not  hope  to  conquer. 

'We  are  lost,'  they  moaned,  'Their  number 

Is  the  number  of  the  needles 

On  the  redwoods  in  the  forest  ; 

And  they  follow  as  the  foxes 

Follow  rabbits  in  the  open.' 


30  Legends  of  San  Francisco 


'We  shall  die,  oh,  my  beloved,' 
Said  the  Chieftain  to  the  maiden. 
'And  die  gladly/  said  the  maiden, 
'If  our  people  may  not  perish. 
As  I  sat  beneath  the  buckeye 
At  my  mortar,  grinding  acorns, 
Fairy  butterflies  came  to  me, 
Fluttered  round  my  head  and  told  me 
That  an  enemy  was  coming  ; 
And  I  warned  you,  oh,  my  lover.' 
'Aye,  you  did,  my  best  beloved.' 
'And  they  promised,  oh,  my  lover, 
That  our  God  would  save  our  people 
Should  I  offer  up  my  spirit 
As  a  sacrifice  before  Him.' 

And  the  young  Chief  spoke,  and  answered, 
'Life  without  you  would  be  empty; 
Let  my  spirit  travel  with  you 
Through  the  spaces  of  the  heavens, 
To  the  upper  world  of  spirits.' 

'It  shall  be  as  you  have  spoken,' 
Said  the  maiden  to  her  lover, 
'And  I  know  that  God  will  answer 


The  Maid  of  Tamalpais  31 


With  a  mighty  sign  from  heaven. 

Stoop,  and  bow  your  head,  my  lover, 

That  my  face  may  turn  to  heaven. 

Mighty  Father,  save  my  people, 

Take  my  spirit  and  my  lover's 

To  the  spirit  land  of  lovers; 

Lift  your  hand  and  strike  the  mountain! 

Cut  a  chasm  wide,  betzveen  us 

And  the  wicked  ones  who  follow; 

Save  my  people,  oh,  my  Father, 

Strike  the  mountain!  Strike  the  mountain!' 

Came  a  rumble  in  the  distance, 
Nearer,  louder,  terrifying! 
God  had  heard  her  prayer,  and  lifted 
Up  his  hand  to  strike  the  mountain. 
When  the  mighty  blow  descended 
With  the  crash  of  many  thunders, 
All  the  mountains  rocked  and  trembled, 
Rose  and  fell,  and  swayed  and  shuddered; 
And  across  the  Coast  Range  Mountains 
Yawned  a  chasm,  hot  and  smoking; 
Into  it  careened  the  hillsides; 
Mountains  swooned  and  fell  into 'it. 


32  Legends  of  San  Francisco 


Through  it,  as  a  giant  sluiceway, 

Rushed  the  roaring,  boiling  waters 

Of  the  lake,  in  tumbling  tumult, 

Flooding  all  the  bayside  lowlands, 

Racing  through  the  Golden  Gateway 

In  a  cataract  stupendous. 

Saint  Helena  burst  its  crater 

With  a  blast  that  leveled  forests, 

And  the  falling  sand  and  cinders 

Buried  deep  the  fallen  giants, 

To  be  petrified  to  agate. 

Through  the  steam  and  sulphurous  vapors, 

Flashed  the  lightning  on  the  mountains, 

And  the  din  of  quake  and  thunder 

Beat  the  air  until  it  quivered. 

When  God,  his  righteous  wrath  abating, 
Ceased  to  shake  and  rend  and  deluge, 
And  the  last  reverberation 
Died  away  into  the  distance, 
And  the  trade  winds  from  the  ocean 
Blew  away  the  smoke  and  vapors, 
Those  remaining  of  the  Tamals 
Gazed  with  wonder  at  a  mountain 


The  Maid  of  Tamalpais  33 


That  was  standing,  new,  before  them, 
For  upon  it  lay  the  maiden 
With  her  face  upturned  to  heaven, 
As  it  was  when  she  was  praying 
To  her  God  to  save  her  people. 
On  her  youthful  breast  and  body 
Lay  a   forest,   like   a  mantle, 
New  and  green,  and  decked  with  flowers. 
And  her  willing  feet  were  resting 
Near  the  bay  and  new-made  river; 
While  the  Chief,  her  faithful  lover, 
Bending  'neath  his  sacred  burden, 
Stretched  his  arms  out  to  the  valleys 
Where  his  people  would  find  shelter. 

Here  for  countless  generations 
We  have  lived  in  peace  and  safety, 
Roaming  through  the  wooded  valleys, 
Hunting  on  the  grassy  meadows, 
Fishing  in  the  bays  and  rivers. 

Now  you  know  the  sacred  story 
Of  the  Maid  of  Tamalpais — 
Why  no  Tamal  ever  ventured 
To  the  holy  crest  above  us. 


34  Legends  of  San  Francisco 


Would  we  tread  upon  the  features 
Of  the  martyred  Maid  who  saved  us? 
Would  we  desecrate  the  rock-tomb 
Of  our  Chief,  her  well  beloved? 

There  she  lies  in  all  her  beauty, 
Sacred  Maid  of  Tamalpais ! 
If  her  eyes  should  turn  from  heaven, 
She  would  see  across  the  waters 
Piles  of  tumbled  crags  and  boulders 
In  the   Grove  of   Thousand  Oak  Trees, 
Where  the  buckeye  trees  still  blossom 
Over  mortar  holes,,   half   hidden. 
Children  play  with  merry  laughter 
Hide  and  seek  among  the  boulders. 
Even  now  perhaps,  the  Fairies 
Dressed  as  butterflies  may  whisper 
Secrets  in  the  ears  of  children, 
If  they  listen  to  the  voices. 

If  her  eyes  should  trace  the  steamers 
As  they  thread  the  curving  channel 
Opened  by  the  ancient  earthquake, 
She  would  see  them  pass  an  island 


The  Maid  of  Tamalpais  35 


On  whose  red  and  barren  summit 
She  was  wounded  in  the  battle. 
White  men  call  it  Red  Rock  Island, 
Knowing  not  the  crimson  color 
Is  from  blood,  shed  in  the  battle 
Fought  upon  the  lofty  summit 
Of  a  mountain  that  was  swallowed 
When  the  mighty  chasm  opened, 
Leaving  but  its  peak  projecting 
Through  the  surface  of  the  waters. 

There  she  lies  in  queenly  beauty, 
Martyred  Maid  of  Tamalpais, 
With  her  face  upturned  to  heaven, 
As  when  praying,  'Take  me,  Father; 
Save  my  people ;  Save  the  Tamals.' 
On  her  head  the  snows  of  winter 
Lay  a  crown  of  shining  crystals. 
Fog  banks  twine  their  arms  about  her 
To  embrace  her  and  caress  her. 
Passing  rainclouds  bathe  her  features 
With  their  tear  drops,  shed  in  sorrow, 
And  the  rainbow  arches  over 
With  the  glories  of  a  halo. 


36  Legends  of  San  Francisco 


She  is  first  to  have  the  greeting 
Of  the  rising  sun,  and  latest 
To  receive  his  goodnight  kisses. 
On  her  sides  the  purple  shadows 
Linger  longest  in  the  twilight. 
For  her  robe  the  fairest  wildflowers 
Bloom    throughout    the    changing    seasons- 
Violets,  and  pink  wild  roses, 
Blue  forget-me-nots,  and  lilies 
Vie  to  give  their  sweetest  perfumes 
To  the  Maid  of  Tamalpais. 

Lovers  climb  the  sacred  mountain, 
Roam  the  hillsides,  tread  the  wildwoods, 
Finding  there  new  inspiration, 
Hope  and  happiness,  not  knowing 
That  the  Maid  of  Tamalpais 
Gives  her  spirit  to  all  lovers 
Who  approach  her  mystic  presence. 

I,  the  last  of  all  the  Tamals, 
Soon  will  turn  my  face  to  heaven 
Where  my  own,  my  best  beloved, 
Waits  with  outstretched  arms,  to  greet  me. 


The  Maid  of  Tamalpais  37 


Write  the  story  for  all  people ; 
It  is  finished;  I  have  spoken." 
Thus  she  spoke,  that  ancient  woman, 
Lone  survivor  of  the  Tamals, 
By  the  campfire  in  the  redwoods, 
On  the  slopes  of  Tamalpais. 


THE  TWIN  GUARDIANS  OF 
THE  GOLDEN  GATE. 


THE  TWIN  GUARDIANS  OF 
THE  GOLDEN  GATE. 


TT  7"OULD  you  know  the  mystic  legend 
Of  the  peaks  of  San  Francisco — 
Of  the  Twin  Peaks  standing  Guardian 
Of  the  gay  and  careless  city, 
Ever  laughing  by  the  gateway 
Of  our  Golden  California? 

Would  you  know  what  brings  the  westwind, 
With  its  cool  and  filmy  vapors 
Trailing  like  a  scarf  of  chiffon 
Through  the  narrow  Golden  Gateway, 
Screening  shore  and  hills  and  harbor, 
While  the  country  all  around  it 
Bathes  in  floods  of  golden  sunshine? 

[41] 


42  Legends  of  San  Francisco 


Would  you  know  why  great  Sea  Lions 
Flounder  on  the  rocky  islands, 
Standing  by  the  Golden  Gateway? 
Why  they  fight  in  baffled  fury, 
Barking  ever  at  the  mainland? 

Listen  then,  and  I  will  tell  you 
As  the  legend  was  related 
By  an  ancient  Tamal  woman, 
As  she  sat  beside  the  campfire 
In  a  grove  of  giant  redwoods 
On  the  slopes  of  Tamalpais. 

"It  was  long  ago,  my  children, 
Long  ago,  in  mystic  ages 
When  the  Gods  lived  near  the  people, 
Who,  like  infants  newly  mothered, 
Needed  care  and  help  and  guidance. 
As  the  children  call  to  parents 
So  the  people  called  to  Spirits. 
Then  the  Gods  were  quick  to  listen, 
Quick  to  teach  them  and  protect  them, 
Quick  to  punish  when  they  trespassed 
On  the  rights  of  one  another. 


The  Twin  Guardians  of  the  Golden  Gate  43 


Near  the  place  where  Holy  Fathers 

Built  the  Mission  of  Dolores 

Was  a  village  of  the  Tamals, 

Vanished  now  for  many  ages. 

By  it  was  a  singing  streamlet, 

Where  the  willows  waved  their  banners; 

Round  it  giant  redwoods  clustered, 

Redolent  with  forest  odors; 

Live  oaks,  bay  trees,  and  madronas 

Billowed  over  plains  and  hillsides. 

Through  the  forest  ranged  the  hunters, 
Seeking  game  in  glen  and  canyon, 
Meat  for  food,  and  fur  for  raiment; 
Vanquishing  the  forest  creatures 
With  flint  arrows  and  stone  axes; 
Seeking  fish  in  bay  and  river 
With  the  spear  or  net  of  sinew. 
On  the  bay  the  warriors  paddled 
In  canoes  of  bark  or  rawhide, 
Or  in  mighty  redwood  dugouts 
Dared  the  currents  of  the  narrows 
Training  warriors  to  be  ready 
To  defend  their  shores  and  harbor. 


44  Legends  of  San  Francisco 


From  the  North  the  foemen  threatened, 
As  an  ever-present  shadow. 
O'er  the  water  came  the  foemen, 
In  a  mighty  fleet  of  warboats; 
Every  summer  came  the  foemen, 
Came  and  fought  and  then  retreated. 

In  his  tepee  sat  the  Chieftain 
With  the  Old  Men,  wise  in  counsel; 
All  their  hearts  were  solely  troubled — 
Every  summer  brought  the  foemen, 
Those  bronze  men  of  fearless  courage, 
Waxing  stronger  every  season — 
Long  they  counseled  with  each  other; 
Would  the  foemen  come  and  conquer? 
Could  the  Tamals  long  withstand  them? 
Thus  they  questioned  in  the  Council 
While  they  planned  their  last  defenses. 

To  the  Council  came  the  sisters, 
Yana  fair,  and  Tana  fearless, 
Twins,  and  daughters  of  the  Chieftain, 
Came  and  stood  before  the  wise  men, 
Came  and  bowed  their  heads  and  waited. 


The  Twin  Guardians  of  the  Golden  Gate  45 


Well  the  wise  men  knew  the  sisters, 
Maidens  blooming  into  women, 
Loved  them  for  their  grace  and  beauty, 
For  the  joy  they  radiated, 
For  the  charm  that  emanated 
From  their  chaste  and  gentle  spirits, 
As  the  perfume  that  is  wafted 
From  the  rose  buds  newly  opened. 

Yet  the  Wise  Men  gave  no  welcome, 
Turned  their  eyes  from  Maids  to  Chieftain. 
"Why,  my  Daughters,  have  you  ventured 
Into  this,  the  warrior's  council? 
Well  you  know  it  is  forbidden ; 
Neither  man  nor  woman  enters 
When  the  warriors  plan  for  battle." 

"Let  us  speak,"  the  Maidens  answered, 
"For  we  bring  a  warning  message. 
As  we  wandered  on  the  ridges 
Gathering  the  golden  poppies 
To  adorn  our  Mother's  tepee, 
We  were  talking  of  the  danger 
From  the  foemen  of  the  Northland, 


46  Legends  of  San  Francisco 

When  a  Maiden  stood  before  us, 
Strangely   fair,  with  golden  tresses, 
Eyes  of  deep  blue  like  the  lupins, 
Dressed  in  garlands  made  of  poppies. 
Hand  in  hand  we  stood  and  wondered, 
Till  the  lovely  apparition 
Smiled  and  caused  our  fears  to  vanish. 
'I  am  the  Spirit  of  the  Country/ 
Said  the  Maiden  of  the  Poppies, 
'And  I  choose  you,  my  Twin  Daughters, 
For  the  beauty  of  your  bodies, 
And  the  worth  of  soul  within  you, 
As  the  saviors  of  your  people, 
As  the  guardians  of  my  harbor. 
Take  the  message  to  your  Chieftain, 
That  the  foe  comes  from  the  Northland ; 
Yet  they  shall  not  harm  your  people 
If  you  stand  upon  the  hilltop 
With  the  talisman  I  give  you. 
Take  this  Magic  Iris  with  you, 
Guard  it  well  for  every  petal 
Has  a  charm  that  brings  an  answer 
To  a  prayer  that  is  unselfish, 


The  Twin  Guardians  of  the  Golden  Gate  47 


To  a  prayer  for  all  the  people 
That  will  live  around  your  harbor. 
Never,  while  you  guard  the  hilltop, 
Shall  a  foe  invade  your  country. 
Petals  three  there  are ;  three  wishes 
Shall  be  granted  when  you  make  them.' 
Then  the  Poppy  Maiden  vanished, 
And  we  hastened  to  our  village. 
Hand  in  hand,  we  ran  so  swiftly 
That  our  feet  but  touched  the  flowers; 
While  above  our  heads  the  wild  ducks 
Flying  southward  clamored  hoarsely, 
'They  are  coming ;     They  are  coming !' 
Sea  gulls,  winging  from  the  ocean, 
Shrieked  their  warning,  'They  are  coming!' 
Then  we  dared  to  brave  your  Council 
With  the  message  of  the  Maiden, 
And  the  warning  of  the  seabirds. 

'It  is  well,'  the  Chieftain  answered, 
'Daughters  with  the  eyes  of  springtime 
And  the  faces  of  the  flowers, 
It  is  well.    The  Gods  have  marked  you 


48  Legends  of  San  Francisco 


With  their  sign  upon  the  forehead; 
You  have  stood  before  a  Goddess, 
And  her  spirit  is  upon  you.' 

Long  the  Old  Men  sat  and  pondered. 
Well  they  knew  the  ears  of  children 
Are  attuned  to  hear  the  voices 
Of  the  Gods  and  Guardian  Spirits. 
Well  they  knew  that  all  wild  creatures 
Speak  to  man  if  one  is  worthy 
To  receive  their  friendly  warning; 
Knew  that  seabirds,  swift  and  cunning, 
See  the  foemen  while  their  war  boats 
Still  are  far  beyond  the  sea-rim. 
Thus  they  reasoned  in  their  council, 
Then  they  stood  before  the  people 
While  the  Chieftain  gave  his  orders. 

'Beat  the  war  drums.    Call  the  warriors. 
Man  the  war  canoes,  and  station 
Sentinels  upon  the  headlands 
Up  the  coast-land  to  Bolinas. 
Let  them  light  the  lurid  war  fires, 
When  they  see  the  foemen  coming.' 


The  Twin  Guardians  of  the  Golden  Gate  49 


Swiftly  northward  raced  the  sentries 

In  their  light  canoes  of  deerskin — 

Through  the  narrows  to  Bonita, 

On  the  ocean  to  Bolinas. 

All  was  tumult  in  the  village ; 

To  each  warrior  was  given 

Long  bows,  strong  bows,  wrapped  with  sinews, 

Stores  of  arrows,  eagle  feathered, 

Newly  tipped  with  sharpest  flint-heads ; 

Stone  head  war  clubs,  wrapped  with  rawhide ; 

Shields  of  oakwood,  tough  and  heavy. 

Women  decked  the  braves  with  feathers, 

Robes  of  fur,  and  charms  of  seashell ; 

Roused  their  courage  with  the  stories 

Of  the  prowess  of  their  Fathers; 

Cheered  with  songs  of  deeds  of  valor 

Of  the  heroes  of  the  Tamals; 

While  the  children,  heavy  hearted, 

Watched  the  scene  in  wide-eyed  wonder. 

Every  day  the  Chieftain's  daughters, 
As  twin  sentinels  were  standing 
On  the  hill  between  the  valley 
And  the  blue  expanse  of  ocean. 


50  Legends  of  San  Francisco 


Every  day  they  watched  the  Morning 
Reach  his  rosy  fingers  upward, 
From  behind  the  eastern  mountains, 
Painting  with  an  elfin  fancy, 
Crimson  edges  on  the  cloudbanks ; 
Then  erasing  and  repainting 
Them  with  gold  or  mauve  or  amber; 
Always  changing,  as  his  fancy 
Swayed  the  child  to  blend  the  colors ; 
Till  Old  Father  Sun  uprising, 
Drove  his  elfin  son  to  shelter 
From  the  dazzle  of  his  presence. 

All  day  long  the  faithful  sisters 
Stood  upon  the  ridge  and  waited — 
Waited  while  the  Sun  ascended, 
Crossed  the  zenith,   then   descended 
On  his  daily  westward  journey. 
Watched  him  sink  into  the  ocean 
As  a  molten  globe  of  metal ; 
While  the  fleecy  clouds  above  him 
Caught  afire,  and  blazed  in  beauty, 
Radiating  flaming  colors 


The  Twin  Guardians  of  the  Golden  Gate  51 


Through  the  changing  clouds,  and  lighting 
O'er  the  purple  sea  a  pathway 
Glinting  in  a  golden  glory. 

Evening  came,  and  still  they  waited — 
While  the  heavenly  dome  turned  purple, 
And  the  twinkling  stars  were  lighted, 
One  by  one,  until  the  darkness 
Scintillated  with  their  sparkle; 
And  a  milky  way  of  star-dust 
Arched  across,  to  hold  the  heavens 
High  above  the  reach  of  mortals. 

Through  the  night  they  watched  and  waited — 

While  the  silver  moon  was  racing 

Through  the  silken  clouds,  and  flooding 

All  the  bay  and  hills  and  ocean 

With  a  pale  illumination, 

Casting  moving  shadows  earthward 

When  a  dark  cloud  passed  before  her. 

Wild  Coyotes  broke  the  silence 

Of  the  midnight  with  their  barking, 

And  the  prowling  Wolves  crept  nearer, 

Till  the  patter  of  their  footsteps 

Could  be  heard  in  stealthy  rushes. 


52  Legends  of  San  Francisco 


Still  the  fearless  Sisters  waited, 
Watched  the  north  for  signal  fires, 
And  in  eager  alternation 
Held  the  Magic  Yellow  Iris. 

Came  at  last  the  welcome  singing 
Of  the  Meadow  Lark  and  Robin, 
And  above  the  eastern  mountains 
Flushed   the   rose-light  of   the   morning; 
Then  again  the  sky  was  tinted 
By  the  Elf  who  plays  with  colors, 
And  the  sleeping  poppies  wakened 
When  the  sunbeams  kissed  their  eyelids. 

From  the  Heights  of  Point  Bonita 
Rose  a  thread  of  smoke  that  lengthened, 
Broadened,   flaunted   like  a   banner, 
Black  and  ominous  of  evil. 
"They   are   coming!"    Yana   whispered, 
"See,  the  signal  fires  are  lighted ! 
They  are  coming.     Guardian  Spirit 
Of  our  native  country,  save  us!" 
And  she  pressed  the  Yellow  Iris 
Closely  to  her  throbbing  bosom. 


The  Twin  Guardians  of  the  Golden  Gate  53 


Over  northern  rim  of  ocean 
Came  the  war  canoes  by  hundreds, 
Came  until  the  waters  darkened 
With  the  number  of  the  warboats. 
Never  could  the  Tamals  conquer 
Such  a  multitude  of   foemen. 
Swiftly  rose  and  fell  their  paddles, 
Flashing  in  the  brilliant  sunshine, 
Trailing  scarfs  of   foam  behind  them, 
As  they  raced  toward  the  harbor. 

Tana  searched  the  far  horizon, 
Saw  the  signal  fires  blazing 
On  the  mountain  tops  and  headlands, 
Heard  the  war  drums  in  the  village 
Roll  in  constant  wild  alarum. 

Yana  held  the  Yellow  Iris 

With  the  Magic  in  its  petals, 

Held  and  gazed  with  adoration 

On  the  velvet  mystic  markings. 

Then  she  plucked  a  magic  petal, 

Held  it  high,  and  ere  it  fluttered 

To  the  breeze  this  prayer  was  uttered : 


54  Legends  of  San  Francisco 


'Spirit  of  our  Native  Country, 
Goddess  guarding  home  and  harbor, 
Roll  the  fog-banks  o'er  the  headlands, 
Hide  the  narrows  from  the  foemen; 
Bring  the  west-wind  from  the  ocean, 
Drive  their  boats  to  crash  and  shatter 
On    the   rocky   surf-bound   islands. 
Bring  the  west-wind!   Bring  the  fog-banks!' 

From  the  ocean  came  the  west-wind, 
Blowing  stronger,  growing  cooler, 
Bringing  in  protecting  fog-banks, 
Sweeping  landward  o'er  gray   waters, 
Flooding  through  the  Golden  Gateway, 
Rolling  over  shore  and  headlands. 

Through  the  fog  the  boats  were  racing 
For  the  entrance  to  the  harbor, 
When  they  plunged  into  the  smother 
Of  the  breakers  round  the  islands — 
Crashed  upon  the  rocks  and  splintered. 
From  the  surf  the  foemen  struggled 
To  the  rocks  and  scrambled  on  them. 


The  Twin  Guardians  of  the  Golden  Gate  55 


Then  the  Maiden  plucked  another 
Petal  from  the  Magic  Iris, 
And   she  prayed  again,   'Oh,   Spirit 
Of  our  Native  Country,  hear  us, 
Change  the  foemen  to  Sea-creatures, 
That  they  never  more  attack  us.' 

As  the  magic  petal  fluttered 
To  the  ground  the  foe  was  changing. 
Arms  and  paddles  changed  to  flippers; 
Legs  were  bound  as  in  a  bandage, 
And  their  brown  and  hairy  bodies 
Wriggled  on  the  rocks,  and  crowded, 
Barking,  fighting  one  another. 

When  the  danger  was  averted, 
When  the  enemy  was  helpless, 
Sisters  wept,  embraced  each  other, 
Thanked  the  Gods  for  their  deliverance. 

Still  remained  another  petal 

Of  the  Magic  Yellow  Iris. 

'One  more  wish  we  have,  one  only.' 

Said  one  sister  to  the  other, 


56  Legends  of  San  Francisco 


'Would  we  might  remain  forever, 
As  the  guardians  of  the  harbor, 
To  protect  it  from  all  foemen, 
To  invoke  the  fog  and  west-wind.' 

Then,  again  The  Poppy  Maiden 

Stood  triumphantly  before  them. 

'You  have  chosen  well,  my  children, 

Had  you  wished  for  wealth  or  beauty, 

Robes  or  jewels  for  adornment, 

Or  for  any  selfish  purpose, 

Then  the  petals  would  have  fallen 

To  the  earth  and  lost  their  Magic. 

My  twin  daughters,  ever  faithful, 

All  your  thoughts  are  for  your  people; 

Therefore,  you  shall  be  immortal, 

Standing  on  the  heights  forever, 

As  the  Guardians  of  the  Harbor. 

Draw  your  mantles  around  your  shoulders, 

Furs  they  are,  but  flowers  they  shall  be. 

As  my  garments  are  of  flowers, 

So  shall  yours  be,  golden  poppies, 

Lupins,  blue,  shall  deck  your  mantle. 

Blue  and  gold  shall  be  your  colors — 


The  Twin  Guardians  of  the  Golden  Gate  57 


Blue,  for  purity  of  purpose ; 

Gold,  for  worth  of  soul  and  spirit. 

While  you  stand  above  the  harbor, 

While  you  call  the  fog  and  west-wind, 

While  you  wear  your  cloak  of  poppies, 

Never  shall  a  foeman  enter 

Through  the  Golden  Gate  with  war-boats. 

Pluck  the  petal,  let  it  flutter 

To  the  ground.     Your  wish  is  granted. 

Stand  forever,  native  daughters, 

As  Twin  Peaks,  to  guard  the  harbor.' 

That  was  long  ago,  my  children, 
When  the  earth  was  young,  and  people 
Heard  the  voices  of  the  Spirits — 
Knew  the  language  of  the  sea-birds. 
To  this  day  the  ancient  warriors 
Flounder  on  the  Sea  Rock  Islands, 
Barking,    roaring,   crowding,    fighting, 
Near  the  gateway  of  the  harbor. 
Still  the  Sisters,  as  the  Twin  Peaks, 
Guard  the  city  and  the  harbor. 
In  the  summer,  at  the  season 
When  the  ancient  foes  came  southward, 


58  Legends  of  San  Francisco 


They  invoke  the  cooling  west-wind 
With  its  fog,  to  screen  the  harbor; 
Yet,  the  sunlight  seeks  the  valley 
Where  the  ancient  tepees  clustered, 
Beaming  there  in  benediction, 
While  around  it  lie  the  shadows.' 

That,  my  children,  is  the  legend 
Told  beside  the  evening  campfire 
By  the  ancient  Tamal  woman, 
In  a  grove  of  giant  redwoods, 
On  the  slopes  of  Tamalpais. 


THE     SEA     GULLS 


THE     SEA     GULLS. 


T\  OUND  the  boat  the  Sea  Gulls  hovered, 
-*^-   Soaring  on  their  spreading  pinions, 
Floating  on  the  air,  but  turning 
Searching  eyes  upon  the  people; 
Searching,  searching,  always  searching, 
Winging,  swinging,  darting,  calling 
In  their  plaintive  tones,  "Ah-we-a." 

By  my  side  my  friend,  the  Tamal, 
Stood  and  gazed  upon  the  Sea  Gulls. 
Long  he  gazed  in  deep  abstraction, 
Then  he  said,  "They  still  are  searching, 
Still  are  calling  to  Ah-we-a. 
Would  you  know  the  Tamal  legend 
Of  Ah-we-a  and  the  Sea  Gulls? 

[61] 


62  Legends  of  San  Francisco 


Know  you,  then,  that  these  blue  waters 
Were  not  always  calm  and  peaceful. 
Once  the  Sea  King,  grim  and  moody, 
Held  his  court  within  this  harbor — 
Held  his  carnivals  of  beauty, 
And  his  wild  and  stormy  revels. 

In  the  cove  of  Sausalito, 
Where  the  houses  of  the  paleface 
Terrace  on  the  wooded  hillside 
And  the  sailboats  ride  at  anchor, 
Lived  a  tribe  of  fisher  people, 
Building  homes  among  the  crannies 
Of  the  rocks  upon  the  bayshore, 
Fishing  in  the  harbor  waters 
From  their  light  canoes  of  redwood — 
Fishing  boldly  in  defiance 
Of  the  Sea  King's  fitful  anger 
At  the  raiding  of  his  Kingdom 
And  the  slaughter  of  his  subjects. 


The  Sea  Gulls  63 


Oft  the  Sea  King,  in  reprisal, 
Lashed  the  harbor  with  his  west  wind 
Till  the  breakers  leaped  in  frenzy, 
Overturning  boats  and  claiming 
Many  fishermen  as  victims. 

Those   who  clung  in   desperation 
To  their  boats  and  reached  the  mainland 
Told  the  tale  of  their  encounter 
With  the  Sea  King  in  the  tempest. 
Through  the  smother  of  the  surges, 
Through  the  driving  rain  and  fog-banks, 
Came  the  Sea  King's  boat  upon  them, 
Drawn  by  floundering  sea  horses 
With  their  manes  of  seafoam  curling 
From  the  prow  and  backward  trailing. 
Through  the  mist  they  saw  it  faintly, 
As  a  ghostly  apparition, 
Riding  down  upon  the  billows — 
Phantom  ship,  at  times  transparent, 
White  or  gray — to  ride  them  over; 
Racing  nearer,  nearer,  nearer, 
Then  dissolving  into  vapor; 


64  Legends  of  San  Francisco 


Or,  at  times,  it  darted  past  them 
Giving  glimpses  through  the  fog-banks 
Of  the  Furies  at  the  paddles, 
Bending,  dipping,  throwing  surges 
From  their  mighty  magic  paddles, 
While  the  wake  of  foaming  waters 
Seethed  and  boiled  in  whrilpool  currents. 

Long  the  warfare  had  continued. 

Fishermen  must  live  by  fishing, 

And  the  Sea  King  claimed  his  victims 

Through  a  strategy  of  cunning, 

Seeking  ever  to  beguile  them 

To  the  sea  to  work  his  vengeance. 

When  day  dawned  in  rosy  splendor 

Calm  and  still  the  harbor  waters 

As  a  sea  of  purple  satin, 

Only  wrinkled  into  ruffles, 

Ever  widening  in  a  circle 

Where  the  fishes  leaped  the  surface. 


The  Sea  Gulls  65 


Fishermen  with  song  and  laughter, 
Waved  farewell  to  wives  and  children, 
Paddled  off  into  the  silence; 
Then,  without  a  sign  of  warning, 
Gales  arose  and  lashed  the  harbor 
Till  the  waters  writhed  and  tumbled, 
Wave  on  wave,  in  thundering  tumult ; 
And  the  Sea  King,  in  his  anger, 
Dashed  the  boats,  o'erturned  and  empty, 
High  upon  the  rocky  seashore 
At  the  feet  of  wailing  women. 

Queen  Ah-we-a  of  the  Fishers 
Mourned  the  sorrows  of  her  people; 
Comforted  the  weeping  widows  ; 
Cared  for  all  the  little  orphans. 
Little  wonder  that  her  subjects 
Loved  the  gentle  Queen  Ah-we-a. 

Long  the  Queen  in  silence  pondered 
On  the  perils  of  her  people. 
Long  she  stood  upon  the  headland 
Where  the  wind-distorted  cedars 


66  Legends  of  San  Francisco 


Cling  upon  the  rocky  hillside. 

Long  she  prayed  to  the  Great  Spirit 

For  his  guidance  and  protection. 

Long  she  prayed  and  watched  and  waited 

Till  the  moon  came  up  and  silvered 

All  the  sea,  and  cast  the  shadows 

Of  the  cedars,  weird  and  lonely. 

From  the  harbor  came  the  night  winds 
Robed  in  tinsel  veils  of  vapors, 
And  they  whispered  in  the  branches 
Of  the  cedar  trees  above  her — 
Whispered  of  the  King,  their  master, 
Whispered  terms  for  ceasing  warfare. 

Ah-we-a  heard  the  hard  conditions, 
Bowed  her  head  as  in  submission. 
On  her  face  the  resolution 
For  a  sacrifice  was  graven — 
For  a  sacrifice  so  noble 
That  the  Spirit  in  the  Heavens 
Smiled  and  promised,  in  her  absence, 
To  protect  her  Fisher  people. 


The  Sea  Gulls  67 


Morning  dawned,  with  vapors  brooding 
On  the  silent  glassy  waters. 
Queen  Ah-we-a  called  her  people 
To  the  sandy  shore,  and  standing 
In  her  light  canoe  of  deer  skin, 
Told  them  of  her  night-long  vigil. 
'Now   I  go/  she  said  in  parting, 
'To  the  great  boat  of  the  Sea  King, 
There  to  plead  that  storms  be  banished, 
Banished  from  our  bay  forever. 
The  Great  Spirit  will  protect  you 
Till  I  come  again  to  lead  you.' 
Then  her  paddle  dipped  the  water, 
And  her  light  canoe  of  deer  skin 
Went  into  the  fog  and  faded, 
Faded  to  a  shadow  outline, 
Then  was  gone  into  the  silence. 

Long  and  watchfully  the  people 
Waited  for  the  Queen  Ah-we-a. 
Then  a  great  fear  came  upon  them. 
'She  is  lost.     The  wicked  Sea  King 
Holds  her  hostage  on  his  war  boat.' 


68  Legends  of  San  Francisco 

Thus  they  mourned,  and  prayed  the  Father, 

The  Great  Spirit,  that  he  give  them 

Wings  to  fly  above  the  waters 

Where  the  Sea  King  could  not  reach  them. 

'Give  us  wings,'  they  prayed  'On  pinions 

Would  we  fly  to  find  Ah-wc-a. 

Change  us,  Father,  into  sea  birds. 

Let  us  search  and  find  Ah-we-a, 

And  at  last,  when  we  have  found  her, 

Change  us  back  to  Fisher  People. 

In  the  flicker  of  an  eyelid, 

All  the  fisher  men  and  women 

And  their  children  changed  to  Sea  Gulls. 

And  the  Father,  ever  mindful 

Of  his  promise  to  Ah-we-a, 

Put  into  the  hearts  of  mortals 

Universal  love  for  Sea  Gulls. 

Laws  have  even  been  enacted 

To  protect  them  from  the  hunters. 


The  Sea  Gulls  69 


To  this  day  the  faithful  Sea  Gulls 
Search  the  Bay,  now  free  from  tempests ; 
Search  the  ferry  boats  and  steamers, 
Soaring  by  on  spreading  pinions, 
Peering  into  people's  faces, 
Searching  for  their  Queen  Ah-we-a. 
Winging,  swinging,  darting,  calling 
In  their  plaintive  tones,  'Ah-we-a ;' 
For  they  know  that  when  they  find  her 
They  will  change  to  human  beings, 
Subjects  of   the  Queen  Ah-we-a. 

Thus  was  told  the  ancient  legend 
Of  Ah-we-a  and  the  Sea  Gulls. 


THE     ISLANDS     OF     THE     BAY 


THE     ISLANDS     OF     THE     BAY 

'-pAMALPAIS  wrapped  her  mantle 
A     Of  the  clouds  about  her  shoulders. 
Gray  the  day,  and  melancholy, 
For  December  rains  were  falling, 
Falling  in  a  steady  downpour. 
Mournful  branches  of  the  redwoods, 
Drooping,  dripping,  swayed  above  us; 
Moaned  above  the  lonely  cabin 
On  the  slope  of  Tamalpais. 
Raindrops  pattered  on  the  shingles, 
Beat  against  the  eastern  windows, 
Flooding  down  the  glass  in  torrents. 

Through  the  veil  of  slanting  rainfall 
Could  be  seen  the  distant  harbor, 
With  its  flecks  of  fleecy  vapors 
Floating,  merging,  disappearing. 


74  Legends  of  San  Francisco 


In  the  fireplace  of  the  cabin, 
Logs  and  knots  of  pine  were  blazing, 
Snapping  with  the  pitch  imprisoned; 
Flocks  of  sparks  were  flying  upward; 
Flags  of  flame  were  waving  welcome, 
Warming,  cheering,  exorcising 
Ghosts  of  Gloom  and  eerie  phantoms; 
Bringing  brightness  and  the  odor 
Of  the  burning  pitch  that  lingers 
As  the  incense  of  the  forests. 

By  the  fireplace  sat  the  Tamal, 
Lone  survivor  of  her  people — 
Sat  and  listened  to  the  patter 
Of  the  raindrops  on  the  shingles, 
To  the  soughing  of  the  west-wind 
In  the  branches  of  the  redwoods. 
Long  she  gazed  upon  the  harbor, 
Lying  leaden-gray  below  us. 
Then,  she  told  this  ancient  legend — 
Legend  of  her  tribe,  the  Tamals, 
Legend  of  an  ancient  deluge. 


The  Islands  of  the  Bay  75 

"Do  you  see,"  she  said,  "the  Islands 
Of  the  Albatross  and  Beaver? 
By  another  name  you  call  them. 
One  is  crested  by  a  prison, 
Grim  and  somber,  melancholy; 
One  is  gay  with  flags  and  bunting, 
Ringing  with  the  martial  music 
Of  your  sailor  boys  in  training; 
Yet,  if  you  observe  them  closely, 
You  will  see  in  one  the  profile 
Of  an  Albatross,  a  giant 
Sea  bird,  sleeping  on  the  water; 
While  the  other  is  a  Beaver 
Facing  always  to  the  eastward. 
When  the  noon  sun  casts  its  shadows 
You  may  see  his  stony  features 
From   the   deck  of   ferry  steamers 
Near  the  pier  that  wades  the  shallows 
On  the  harbor's  eastern  border, 
Tamals  call  them  Sacred  Islands 
Of  the  Albatross  and  Beaver, 
For  upon  their  backs  were  carried 
All  the  Tamals  through  the  deluge. 


76  Legends  of  San  Francisco 


Down  the  ages  came  the  legend, 
Told  by  Fathers  to  the  children, 
Told  on  rainy  winter  evenings 
Round  the  campfires  of  the  Tamals. 

From  the  ocean  rolled  the  rain-clouds, 
Came  unceasingly  the  rain-clouds. 
Black  and  heavy  were  the   rain-clouds, 
Lighted  only  by  the  flashes 
Of  the  lightning  playing  in  them. 
Fell  the  rain  as  falls  the  torrents 
In  the  wraterfalls  of  rivers, 
Fell  through  days  of  murky  darkness, 
Fell  through  nights  of  inky  blackness, 
Fell   for  days  and  nights  unnumbered. 
Waters  covered  plains  and  valleys. 
On  the  coast  the  sea  was  rising, 
Flooding  all  the  lower  country, 
Creeping  up  the  mountain  foothills; 
Still  the  rains  in  floods  descended. 


The  Islands  of  the  Bay  77 


Up  the  slopes  of  Tamalpais 
Climbed  the  people  of  the  Tamals, 
While  behind  them  crept  the  waters, 
Covering  the  hills  and  mountains. 
One  by  one  the  peaks  were  swallowed 
In  the  flood  of  rising  waters. 
On  the  gray  and  sullen  waters 
Floated  logs  and  trees  uprooted; 
On  the  trunks  and  in  the  branches 
Cowered  creatures  of  the  forests, 

Then  the  people  prayed  the  Spirit — 
Prayed  the  Father  in  the  Heavens — 
That  he  save  his  tribe,  the  Tamals, 
Ere  the  waters  rise  above  them; 
And  the  Spirit  heard  their  pleading, 
Sent  the  Albatross  and  Beaver, 
Giant  messengers  from  Heaven, 
As  the  Saviors  of  the  Tamals. 

Albatross  came  from  the  westward, 
Through  the  lightning  of  the  storm-clouds, 
Growing  larger,  coming  nearer, 
Till  the  thunder  of  his  pinions 


Legends  of  San  Francisco 


Echoed  from  the  cliffs  above  them, 
Then  he  rested  on  the  waters. 

From  the  eastward  came  the  Beaver, 
Swimming  through  the  turbid  waters, 
Growing,  growing,  ever  growing, 
Till  he  had  become  a  Giant, 
On  whose  back  the  tribe  of  Tamals 
Could  find  refuge  from  the  waters. 

Then  a  voice  spoke  from  the  storm-clouds, 

Spoke  in  mighty  tones  of  thunder: 

'I  have  heard  your  prayer,  Oh  Tamals; 

You  shall  live,  and  shall  re-people 

All  the  world  with  men  and  women. 

I  will  give  to  them  the  spirit 

Of  the  Albatross  who  searches 

Distant  seas  on  tireless  pinions. 

I  will  give  to  them  the  wisdom 

Of  the  Beaver  who  with  patience 

Labors,  building  and  constructing. 

On  the  Albatross  and  Beaver 

You  shall  ride,  until  the  waters 

Shall  return  to  their  own  borders.' 


The  Islands  of  the  Bay  79 


On  the  Albatross  and  Beaver 
All  the  Tamals  rode  in  safety, 
While  the  swirling  deluge  covered 
All  the  foothills  and  the  mountains. 
Then  the  northwind,  dry  and  scorching, 
Drove  the  rain-clouds  to  the  ocean, 
And  the  sun-rays,  piercing  through  them, 
Glinted  on  the  troubled  waters. 
Came  the  peak  of  Tamalpais 
As  an  island  to  the  surface  ; 
Down  the  slopes  the  flood  receded 
Baring  forests  to  the  sunlight, 
Then  the  grass-lands  of  the  valleys 
And  the  old  familiar  coastline. 

With  rejoicing  all  the  Tamals 
Sought  their  homes  along  the  bayshore, 
Singing  thanks  to  the  Great  Spirit, 
Singing  praises  to  their  saviors, 
Giant  Albatross  and  Beaver, 
Resting  then,  within  the  harbor. 
Then  again,  in  voice  of  thunder, 
Spoke  the  Spirit  from  the  Heavens; 


80  Legends  of  San  Francisco 


'Let  the  Totem  of  the  Tamals 
Be  the  Albatross  and  Beaver ; 
Search  and  Labor,  be  their  motto ; 
And,  lest  children  of  their  children 
May  forget  their  mighty  saviors, 
Giant  Albatross  and  Beaver 
Shall  be  changed  to  rocky  Islands — 
Monuments  to  stand  forever, 
In  the  Harbor  of  the  Tamals.' 

Thus  the  ancient  Tamal  woman 
Told  the  Legend  of  the  Islands, 
While  December  rains  were  falling, 
And  the  fragrant  pine  was  burning 
In  the  fireplace  of  the  cabin 
On  the  slope  of  Tamalpais. 


THE     LAKE     OF     MERITA. 


THE     LAKE     OF     MERITA 


>TpHE  lengthening  shadows  of  evening 
-*-     Were  creeping  on  Mount  Tamalpais, 
Painting  with  purple  the  valleys, 
Gilding  the  ridges  and  summit. 
Green  were  the  groves  of  the  redwoods, 
Lacing  their  branches  together; 
Through  them  the  last  rays  of  sunlight 
Pierced  to  the  carpet  of  needles. 
Only  the  tinkling  of  water, 
Only  the  breeze  in  the  branches, 
Only  the  call  of  the  blue  jays 
Broke  the  mysterious  silence. 

Far  through  the  canyon  I  wandered, 
Far  to  her  camp  in  the  redwoods — 
The  home  of  the  Indian  woman, 
Wrinkled  and  old  and  decrepit, 

[83] 


84  Legends  of  San  Francisco 


Learned  in  the  lore  of  the  Tamals. 
Nearing  her  camp-fire,  I  saw  her, 
And  halted  in  fear,  lest  I  trespass. 

She  sat  like  a  Priestess  of  Forests, 
Chanting  with  weird  intonations, 
Slowly,  with  strange  repetitions, 
Swaying  in  rythmical  measure. 
Round  her  the  wild  forest  creatures 
Gathered  and  sat  at  attention. 
Birds  ceased  their  anthems  of  evening, 
Fluttered  to  branches  above  her, 
Listened  as  if  fascinated. 

The  singing  was  hushed  when  she  saw  me; 
Away  fled  the  wild  things  to  cover. 
"Welcome,  my  friend,"  said  the  Tamal. 
"A  seat  at  my  camp-fire  is  waiting." 
Her  welcome  was  hearty  and  friendly, 
But  out  of  the  shade  of  the  forests 
Came  chattering,  chirping  and  barking, 
Resenting,    reproaching,   complaining. 


The  Lake  of  Merita  85 


I  sat  by  the  camp-fire  and  listened 
In  wonder.    The  scene  was  uncanny. 
At  last,  when  the  plaints  had  subsided, 
Or  faded  away  in  the  distance, 
I  said  ,  "Tell  me,  friend,  by  what  magic 
Are  wild  creatures  called  to  your  camp-fire. 
Is  it  a  secret  you  cherish? 
May  you  reveal  it  to  others?" 

She  gazed  in  the  flickering  embers, 
Dreamily  gazed  in  the  embers, 
Then  she  replied,  "You  have  heard  me 
Singing  the  song  of  Merita, 
The  magical  song  of  Merita, 
Merita,  the  friend  of  wild  creatures, 
Wearers  of  fur  or  of  feathers, 
Creatures  of   forest  and  mountain, 
Birds  of  the  sea  and  the  marshes. 

I  will  tell  you  the  tale  of  Merita, 

Merita,  the  daughter  of  Yado, 

Chief  of  the  fishermen  people 

Who  lived  by  the  Lake  of  the  Oak  Trees, 

Far  to  the  east  of  the  harbor. 


86  Legends  of  San  Francisco 

Slender  and  tall  was   Merita, 

Dark  were  her  eyes,  and  her  tresses 

Glossy  and  black  as  the  feathers 

That  gleam  on  the  wings  of  the  raven. 

Gentle  and  kind  was  Merita, 

Serving  the  young  and  the  aged, 

Nursing  the  sick  and  the  wounded, 

Cheering   when   sorrow   was   breaking 

The  heart  of  some  one  of  her  people. 

The  Gods  taught  Merita  the  language 

Of  birds  that  made  nests  in  the  oak  trees, 

Of  water  fowl  thronging  the  tules, 

Of  all  furry  creatures  that  peopled 

The  hills  and  the  valleys  around  them. 

They  came  from  afar  when  she  called  them, 

Called  with  her  song,  and  they  hastened 

To  tell  her  their  troubles  and  sorrows. 

She  bound  up  their  wounds  and  caressed  them, 

And  told  them  the  wiles  of  the  hunters. 

Wandering  one  day  to  the  northward, 
She  came  to  a  creek  where  strawberries, 
Ripe  and  delicious  were  growing 
Beside  a  small  stream  that  cascaded 


The  Lake  of  Merita  87 


Down  from  the  Peak  of  the  Grizzlies. 
Refreshing  herself  with  the  berries 
Se  sat  in  the  shade  of  the  live  oaks, 
The   ancient   and   wide-spreading   live   oaks, 
And  called  to  the  wild  forest  creatures, 
Singing  the  Song  of  Merita. 

'Come,  come,  come,  birds  of  the  air, 

For  I  love  you. 
Come,  come,  come,  tell  how  you  fare, 

For  I  love  you. 
Come,  come,  come,  wild  creatures,  know 

That  I  love  you. 
Come,  come,  come,  tell  me  your  woe, 

For  I  love  you. 
Come,  come,  come,  you  will  I  serve, 

For  I  love  you. 
Come,  come,  come,  you  well  deserve, 

And  I  love  you. 
Come,  come,  come,  I  bring  you  aid, 

For  I  love  you. 
Come,  come,  come,  be  not  afraid, 

For  I  love  you. 
Come,  come,  come — come — come — come.' 


88  Legends  of  San  Francisco 


Before   the  monotonous   chanting 

Was  finished,  the  Blue  Jays  and  Robins, 

Pigeons,  and  Bluebirds,  and  Blackbirds 

Flew  to  the  branches  above  her, 

And  tipping  their  heads  to  observe  her 

Opened  their  bills  in  complaining. 

Down  from  the  canyon  a  white  fawn 

Came  with  a  shaft  in  her  shoulder, 

Fell  at  the  feet  of  Merita, 

Bleating  her  plea  for  protection. 

Quickly  the  arrow  was  taken 

Out  of  her  quivering  shoulder. 

Then  came  the  hunter,  pursuing — 

Halted,  and  gazed  in  amazement. 

'I  am  Zarando,  the  Tamal, 

Chief  of  the  Thousand  Oaks  People. 

Pardon  me,  if  I  have  wounded 

A  pet  of  the  beautiful  stranger.' 

Under  the  arm  of  Merita 

The  frightened  fawn  crept  for  protection. 

'I  am  Merita,  the  daughter 

Of  Yado,  the  Chief  of  the  Fishers 

Who  live  by  the  Lake  of  the  Oak  Trees. 


The  Lake  of  Merita  89 


The  Fawn  is  my  friend,  and  she  answers 
My  call  to  all  wild  forest  creatures.' 

'I  have  a  call,'  said  Zarando, 

'A  call  to  decoy  the  wild  creatures 

Into  the  range  of  my  arrows, 

Yet  few  are  deceived  by  the  pretense. 

Teach  me  your  call,  oh,  Merita. 

'Nay,  nay,  Zarando;  love  only 
Will  draw  the  wild  creatures  around  you. 
Love  does   not  change — cannot  injure — 
The  shaft  is  not  aimed  at  a  loved  one. 
If  you  would  draw  the  wild  creatures, 
Love  them,  and  guard  them  from  danger.' 

'I  am  a  hunter,  Merita, 

And  yet  would  I  gladly  abandon 

The  bow  and  the  trap  to  secure 

The  charm  that  the  Great  Spirit  gives  you. 

Tell  me  the  secret,  Merita, 

Teach  me  to  speak  in  the  language 

Of  all  the  wild  creatures  around  you; 

Teach  me  to  know  and  to  love  them.' 


90  Legends  of  San  Francisco 


Then  were  the  first  lessons  given, 
Where  now  gather  thousands  of  students, 
Beneath  the  old  wide-spreading  live  oaks 
That  stand  by  the  stream  in  the  Campus. 
There  the  first  Teacher  and  Pupil, 
Merita  and  young  Chief  Zarando, 
Met  on  the  mornings  that  followed, 
Met  for  the  love  of  the  study, 
And  then  for  the  love  of  each  other. 

No  more  were  the  Tamals  and  Fishers 
Rivals,  at  war  with  each  other; 
United  they  lived  as  one  people — 
One  people  around  the  great  harbor. 
Zarando,  their  chief   ruled  with  justice; 
Merita,  their  Queen  ruled  with  mercy. 
Their  village  grew  up  where  the  oak  trees 
Stand  on  a  point  in  the  Lakelet. 
The  water  birds  came  at  her  calling, 
And  thronged  on  the  Lake  of  Merita, 
Holding  conventions,   and  heeding 
The  judgments  she  gave  in  their  quarrels. 
No  one  disturbed  them  nor  harmed  them ; 
There  was  a  refuge  from  danger. 


The  Lake  of  Merita  91 


It  is  said  that  souls  of  the  lovers 

Still  live  in  the  oak  trees  that  border 

The  shore  of  the  Lake  of  Merita ; 

And  that  water-birds  come  at  their  calling, 

And  throng,  unafraid,  on  the  waters, 

Hearing  the  song  of  Merita: 

'Come,  come,  come,  birds  of  the  air, 

For  I  love  you. 
Come,  come,  come,  tell  how  you  fare, 

For  I  love  you. 
Come,  come,  come,  I  bring  you  aid, 

For  I  love  you. 
Come,  come,  come,  be  not  afraid, 

For  I  love  you.' 
Come,  come,  come, 
Come, 
Come, 
Come." 


[THE  END] 


[PaulEJd 

mm 

h/h 


000562296 


OCT  1  6  1978 


DATE  DUE 


RFCfl  KpV 6  1978 


GAYLORD 


